Freedom
by martinique
Summary: [Fin] Gen, no pairings. Rumination on the notion of freedom and how it applies to Naruto, Sasuke, Itachi, Kakashi and Konoha.


**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine, I make no profit.

**Rating**: PG  
**Pairings**: None - Gen.  
**Summary**: On Freedom and other vague thoughts.  
**  
Freedom**

_by Starapple (Martinique) _

In Konoha, freedom is a word not used lightly. It is not a distinct word. It is not separate, it does not sit wholly defined, unsullied in the mouth of its user, untarnished by the slow tide of time. It has connotations.

In Konoha, freedom is a word.

It is a word used by all. Immediately, it means freedom _from_. Something which many outsiders consider to be the wrong way around, but Konoha and similar shinobi townships were based on the idea of freedom _from_ something. Like death. Political Unrest. The gloom of genocide due to breakdown of talks.

Freedom is a word, used easily, slip-sliding when meant in its former sense. A freedom from despair, from terror. It is a simple word, at this stage.

Then, the second layer of the word is peeled back to reveal a truth lived daily by Konoha's inhabitants. Freedom, freedom from, created knowing, the kind that began in words and ended in the careful pat of a head. It created relationships. It created bonds, duties, obligations.

It built a world around the very word, freedom. It tasted like sweet melon on their lips when a cry rose waveringly to the blue-sky-blue, but alone, in their homes which reeked of double standards, the word freedom was a wistful, abstract thought. They felt they had not tasted it, that the melon concealed something raw, more primal, true like the never-changing fecund soil.

Within them grew a bitter longing for the experience of freedom, of weightlessness in motion. Going nowhere, experiencing the power of gods as they moved where they wished for no other reason than that they could.

As their minds dimmed, and see-sawed into the realities of life, they began to hate the very notion of it. The idea itself was preposterous. Dangerous. Their children were dreaming too much and not doing their duties. Had they not deserved the honour due them? Had they not given up, sacrificed to provide them with a safe and secure home?

That they had.

Konoha grew old in its reckoning of the word.

We descend another layer, deeper into the marrow of the word. _Freedom_.

Konoha shied away from danger, content in the fabricated microcosm in which it moved.

The signs of unrest came.

White Fang, who no longer believed in rules, believed in doing right – how _dare_ he abandon his obligations? It stirred the town into outrage. It created a regimented young man, Konoha not knowing that his roots grew deep to touch six feet down, and that against the wind he bent only to right himself, stronger.

It was only the beginning. Konoha was on edge, but still slumbering. Freedom whispered around the edges, a hoarded treasure that escaped, floating un-distilled into the ears of a young child who cried for the love of parents snatched away.

As a demon rampaged, taught the other version, the darker type of freedom, a young babe killed a hero.

Cries echoed twelve short years later by blue eyes that ran parallel to the sky. Searching for light.

And unforgettable, the Uchiha massacre.

Konoha rose up, clambering to weakened knees in horror. _I – tachi. _They hummed his name in this way. _Dangerous_. _Psychopathic_. He was the _cause_, he made them shudder in fear, in grief at the freedom slowly trickling through their fingers.

Eventually Konoha simmered down once more, ears flattened to the keen sounds of a young boy's grief.

It had begun so many years before, this re-education, this punishment for _lying_.

_There are more types of freedom. _

Two boys, in one team, both lost. They have freedom _from_, but it doesn't interest them. They have something sweeter, deadlier, more painful. Something that fills their entire being with a power that leads them to be reckless in a way only young boys can be. Young boys on the verge of manhood too early for them.

In their own circles they create whirlpools, threatening the order of life Sakura represents. And they struggle against it, even as they yearn for bonds. But they are bitter, and angry because no one cares.

They don't care. Who can scare them with a whipping?

The tree watches them, roots touching below, damply curling in understanding, in sympathy. Kakashi watches them, and knows Konoha must wake and expel them.

Dangerous. This freedom of theirs. This freedom of theirs that leads to close-death encounters despite life plans. One dark and moody, the other sunny and bright. But both with a secret old men cannot cope with. And them at the verge, being able to do so very much with it. They can feel it in their hands, almost like baking. Mixing the right ingredients – _never before_ – kneading it, feeling the change – _have they done_ – watching it grow under masterful plans, the mastery of their touch – _this, this is new to them_. And so very dangerous.

This freedom _to_. Free to do as they please, because nothing binds them but false allegiance and need. As shinobi they are self-reliant, and Konoha wakes to this knowledge, the clammy touch of a hand on quickening womb. They are biding their time. And Konoha pushes, because it refuses to learn, refuses to adapt.

Konoha comforts itself, it is so very dangerous, this freedom _to_, _they _will never survive its full strength.

**END**

_R&R always welcome, always very much appreciated._


End file.
